Child's Play
by XxBlaiddxX
Summary: Scully is apparently dead...then a young girl claiming to be her shows up at Mulder's apartment. My first EVER fic I wrote this spring.
1. Chapter 1

**5:56 PM, Georgetown Memorial Hospital**

A single tear ran down Special Agent Fox Mulder's face as he held onto the fast moving gurney down the long hospital corridor. Hospital orderlys bustled by, On their way home, on their way to a patient. A few trainies stopped and watched, but for the most part the hospital staff passed by, barely glancing at the body. They were used to death in it's most hidious form. He had to remember that. They weren't being intentianaly heartless. This was their job. To look smack in the face of death, and not bat an eye.

He couldn't stop thinking how...and why? Only 3 (Author's note: 4? 5? haven't decided yet!) hours earlier she was perfectly fine, talking, arguing, being her old (not hardly) Bantering, insufferable self.

He had to wonder again.....Why? Why go to all the trouble to kill her, when he was the one stirring up trouble?

Why Indeed?

The Hospital was brightly lit, and it's walls were a sickly limeish green. He felt his stomach churn in agony. He couldn't help but recall when he went to Antarctica to rescue her - clinging onto the hope that he could could somehow make it though all the ice and snow and wind to find her, trapped in a small, slimy pod, naked and cold to the touch on board a spaceship she would never admit to being on. Always the sceptic.....- But he did. But they had made it through that. And he wished the situation was the same, now. But this was different. this was closure.

This was final.

He felt the gurney slow, and realized he had had his eyes shut. He opened them to a sympathetic looking orderly.

"Sir?" She asked. "I'm going to take her from here. I'm afraid you can't pass beyond this point. Personnel only, I'm afraid."

"But....I am....I was her partner."

"Sir, I'm sorry sir, but this is the morgue. I can't let you come with her past this point."

"Can I have a minute with her?"

The orderly sighed and continued to look sypathetic. It was part of the job description. This man, this FBI agent, was one of the most broken up persons she had ever encountered. And he was broken up ever-so-quietly. He refused to leave the body of his partner, even after she was wheeled away. She wished he would make a scene, throw things, be normal. But he was just a presence, a terrible, empty morning presence. She didn't have to, but she took pity on him.

"Yes sir."

************

Mulder sat in a small dimly lit room off the morgue, a place reserved for autopsys, and those who felt the need to say one last goodbye to their loved ones. He had barely got a chance to say goodbye when her heart stopped. He had pushed them and pushed them to keep trying to start it, but he didn't know what he was doing. He wasn't the doctor, she had been.

They had wheeled her away so quickly. He guessed they didn't like dead people crowding up the main part of the hospital, especially in the Emergency ward, what with new sick and dying people being brought in every minute.

God, he was angry. Angry at himself. Angry at the Powers-that-be, who had most likely arranged Scully's death. He didn't even know exactly how she had died... He wouldn't until the autopsy.

A Morgue attendant wheeled the sheet-covered body into the small room.

"I'll give you some privacy", she said.

He stood up, and walking over to the gurney pulled back the sheets.

"Ma'am? Excuse me, but...this isn't her."

The Attendant paused at the door. She scrunched up her brow and peered down on her charts.

"Scully, Dana Kathrine?"

"Yeah? Is there a problem?"

"Sir, that's her."

"No, Dammit, it's not! I was here when she was brought in, this isn't her!"

"Sir, please calm down, I'll see if there was a mixup."

She left the room in a hurry. She left him with this woman who was most definitely not Scully. He looked down at the woman's face...she was beautiful, about 5'2, with medium red hair...That was Scully....and yet...this person he looked down on wasn't Scully. He was tired. Maybe he was even hallucinating?

He blinked back tears. Maybe all this was just a big mistake. Maybe...maybe Scully wasn't really dead, maybe...He sighed. He was so tired. He just wanted everything to be normal, everything to go away. He wished he was 10 again, able to go to his mom, throw himself upon her lap, cry, and have his mother take it all away, hide his head like an ostrich, hum a tune, ignore it all.

He heaved a steady breath. Stay together now, Fox. Can't collapse now. Still gotta catch the bastard who did this. Be an FBI agent, catch the bad guy, bring 'em to justice. That always makes a person feel better.

Rubbing a hand across his face, he glanced one more time at the woman who was not Scully, then he somehow managed to make it to the door, and out

into the main part of the morgue. He went out into the main corridor of the basement, and onto an elevator. He finally leaned against the *up* button, and had a moment of peace.

He exited the elevator and ran smack into the attendant who had gone off to see about seeing a mixup.

"Oh!" She said, startled. "I checked with the front desk, and the ER staff, Mr. Mulder, And I can assure you that that is Miss Scully, brought in here at 2 PM-"

"I don't give a crap", he said, avoiding her by walking around her.

"I-" She began.

He waved a hand behind him, to acknowledge he had heard her. He was a man on a mission.

He knew where he was going next, and he didn't like it.

********************

Mulder stumbled awkwardly into his apartment, reeking of every type of alcohol known to man. He threw off his clothes in a heap beside his couch and flopped inelegantly onto it.

Try as he might, he couldn't sleep. He couldn't even rest; unanswered questions flitted through his sedated mind- Did he even have a decent picture of Scully? he wondered. He knew he definitely didn't have an indecent one. When would the funeral be? What would he say? He knew he'd be expected to speak, he was-had been her partner. He could do that, but he didn't know if he could do that and keep it together.

In his stupefied brain the whole day was a complete blur; he couldn't even recall if he'd eaten or drank anything other than alcohol and the club crackers they serve at bars. God, he was going to have the mother of all hangovers........

*********************


	2. Chapter 2

A young woman, who looked to be about 14 or 15 stood outside the door of Fox Mulder's apartment. Her medium red hair was disheveled and messy, and her face a flurry of emotions. Her mascara was running in a most cheap way, as tired, miserable tears ran down her face. The oversized coat she was wearing bulged under one arm, in a particularly gun-shaped way. She kept pausing, listening for an sound at all. Pulling back her hair, she pressed her face up against the door of the apartment, listening. The only sound was the occupant's loud rhythmatic snoring.

She didn't really know how to approach this...she tried to tell herself that he wouldn't understand.

"Oh god, Mulder would understand anything if told right." She murmured under her breath.

Best just to just face this, she thought to herself.

She quietly turned the handle on the door, praying that it would be unlocked. It was.

If Mulder's so paranoid, why doesn't he even lock his door properly, She wondered to herself.

She gently squeezed though the small opening in the door she had opened, not wanting the un-oiled door hinge to creak. His apartment was dark and smelled faintly of Cheetoes and whisky. Passing the kitchenette she wondered to herself what she was going to say to him, how she could possibly explain this. SHE couldn't even explain it to herself, let alone tell someone, or try to explain it to another person. But she needed help, and Mulder seemed to be the most likely person to turn to in this case.

Emerging into the main part of what was really just one great big room, she looked at him. He was sprawled out on his couch with an old blanket over him, and she couldn't help but wonder why he didn't buy a bed. He must get some weird sleep, laying like that...She glanced over at his window, and saw the big scotch tape 'X' residue on it. She sat down on the coffee table next to the couch.

"Mulder, Mulder..." She heaved a sob-leaden sigh, and ran her fingers through her oily hair.

Gathering what little composure she had left, she glanced around the room, and wondered where the bathroom was.

"Well, it's not in here, that's for sure," she whispered, a little annoyed. But oh god, she had passed being annoyed a long time ago. She was a strong woman, she could take a lot. But not this. This was torture, this was being faced with something she couldn't explain, couldn't analyze away...'

She stood up and walked over to the couch Mulder lay on. She knelt by it and scanned his face. It looked so peaceful, but it also looked despondent. She noticed little smear marks around his eyes, and little worry grooves around his mouth. A very strong urge to kiss him came and went. Instead she smoothed out his hair with her hand, and ran her fingers though it to give it it's normal wave. "Mulder, I need to talk to you. I'm..I don't know what's going on. Please wake up." She wasn't sure if she had said it out loud or not, but he stirred a little, rolled his eyes behind his lids, and then appeared to go back to sleep.

"Mulder!" She said in the loudest whisper she dared.

He opened his eyes and slowly focused them, looking very tired and confused.

"Scull-" He began. He blinked slowly then raised himself up on one elbow. "Scully?" He whispered.

"I don't know anymore, Mulder." she said to him. "I think I'm me, but I can't be sure."

Realization suddenly dawned on him. "Scully!" He said rather loudly, unmindful of the people in adjoining apartments. In one motion he leant down and took her into his arms and held her there. "If this is a dream, my mind better have a damn good excuse for getting my hopes up," He said, leaning into her hair.

"Mulder, just look at me," she said, wriggling out of his embrace.

He leaned over and switched his light on, causing them both to wince as their eyes adjusted. He looked at her, and she looked back. There was something wrong here. Terribly wrong. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face a little more into the light. He suddenly dropped his finger off her chin and moved visibly away from her. His voice went ice cold. "Who are you?" he asked. "Who sent you?"

*********************************

Young Scully, quick as a flash, whipped her gun out from under the lumpy sweater she was wearing, taking Mulder completely off guard. She then calmly leveled it with his head, grasping her gun with both hands. She stood up quickly and backed up a few steps. She knew how aggressive he could be under pressure, and did not want to take any chances.

She began to speak softly:

"Mulder, I don't know what's happened to me, or why I look this way, but I can assure you, _it is me here_. I know you can't just take my word for it, but I need you to calm down and just listen to me."

She paused and took a deep breath, relaxing significantly. She closed her eyesfor just a second, taking in the whole situation.

"If you'd tell me honestly who you are, maybe we could talk," Mulder said guardedly. He straightened up in his seat. He put his hands up in the air and motioned to a basket. "Let's suppose you are who you say you are. Why are you here? and may I put on my pants before we get to far into this?"

Her blue eyes snapped open.

"Because I need help, and yes. But move V e r y slowly," She said, repositioning her fingers on her gun. She started slowly backing up into his desk chair. Keeping her eyes on him at all times, she swivled the chair around and sat down, making sure she could still see his hands.

"Now, " She began, "Tell me how your day went, starting with"... -She glanced at the clock which read 3:34 AM..."Yesterday.. I need to know exactly what you, and especially I, did. From the top."

She gently rested her handgun on her crossed leg, the barrel always pointed towards him.

*******************


	3. Chapter 3

"The top?" Mulder asked. "For starters, I don't know you, so how could I even have been with you yesterday?"

She wasn't going to catch him on that, he thought.

"Mulder, for chrissakes cut the crap!" Scully snapped. "I know you've been deceived many times; by your father, by your sister, by her "Clones", heck, your whole family! But Mulder it's ME! I can't prove it, you don't I'm not a "clone"."

She paused and bit her lip.

"Hell Mulder..._I_ don't know what I am, if I even am....a clone." She said softly, ashamed by the admission. Her voice had stopped putting 'clone' in parenthinsees. She knew she had just crossed a line he would never let her forget.

There was a long silence, only broken by the sound of Fox Mulder getting dressed. After a time she continued, her voice starting to rise in urgency:

"But maybe, Just maybe, something happened to me and my body decided to regress 20 years, and if it did, good for it! But do you think I being 15 again? NO! Mulder, I've got hormones! 15 year old hormones! I haven't had these kinds of feeling for 20 years! And I'm so confused. I just want to know what has happened to me. Am I going to be this way till I _grow out of it?_"

Scully was angry and crying by this time, her words streaming together. She couldn't see anything, and her vision was blurry.

As she had been gesturing her gun had fallen off her lap. She struggled to reach it, when suddenly she felt arms reach around her shoulders and firmly hold her. They lifted her up onto her feet and pulled her to their origin.

Scully buried her face in Mulder's shirt and cried her lungs out. She howled about anything and everything. She wasn't being delicate, wasn't trying to look pitiful. Her only thought was to cry.

************************************

Scully had eventually stopped sobbing and had sat down on the couch next to Mulder. She blew her nose in a piece of toilet paper the he had gotten for her (Mulder didn't buy Kleenex:).

The only sounds were a faint siren in the distance, the creaking of the old apartment building, and the occasional confused bird.

"Mulder-" she began.

" "Cut the Crap," " he said with a small smile.

"What?"

"Cut the Crap," he repeated.

"Mulder, that's _my _line," She said, faintly smiling and a little perplexed.

"I know." His smile grew wider. "That's how I knew it was you. Well....." He mulled that over. "I was willing to take a chance, at least. A clone would have known more general details, who my father was, what my birthday is, ect. And they would have tried to convince me that you are you more than you did."

She lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

"Suffice to say, the way 'Cut the Crap' came so naturally to you, I knew that I could take a gamble. Like I said, willing to take a chance. Anyway, you haven't tried to kill me so far, and-" He put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled down her sweater to reveal her upper back and neck. "-You don't seem to have a lump or a chip, so if you are a clone, you're not the garden variety, at least." He winked at her and puffed out his cheeks.

She looked at him and smiled back.

"You're psycic," She concluded.

"Hmm?" He said, raising an eyebrow fixing an amused smirk on his face.

"Was that a bit ironic wit I detect. Agent Scully?"

"Maybe."

**********************


	4. Chapter 4

**6:30 AM, Somewhere in Washington.**

"Sir? This just arrived for you, sir."

The thin well-dressed man motioned a small unopened telegram to a mean seated at his desk, his back to the door.

"Open it and read it."

"Yes, sir." The thin man opened it and cleared his throat:

"Small problem STOP Please advise STOP Agent D.S. awakening STOP Prototype possibly at large STOP"

The thin man went white when he realized what he had just read. "Sir! Would you like me to compose a reply?" His voice trembled as he spoke. In his nervousness he smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes.

A thick haze of smoke arose from the desk chair. In between the lean, gaunt man's finger's was a thin cigarette. He tapped a few ashes onto the expensive-looking rug.

"Mmm. And send flowers for the lovely Agent Scully." He turned around in his chair and smiled at his own joke.

"It was funny, Clark. Crack a smile at least."

The thin man blinked at him like he was crazy.

"Do you know what this implicates? The confidential information that could be leaked?"

"Relax. The prototype knows nothing, and we can keep the girl under sedation. And remember your position. It doesn't do for a secretary to become so involved in his employer's affairs." He pressed the cigarette to his thin lips.

"Yes, Sir."

The Cigarette-Smoking Man continued to smile.

And Smoke.


	5. Chapter 5

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner sat at his desk. His hands cradled his chin as he stared down at he numerous papers and folders on the wooden surface. The same name kept looking up at him:

SCULLY, D K

The death of any agent was sad, but this one in particular. Through the course of his time as an assistant director for the FBI, he had worked in conjunction with Dana Scully many times, mainly though, because she was Fox Mulder's partner, and they both reported to Skinner. He considered her a friend, and a good Agent, one that would be a big loss for the FBI. Her medical background especially, made her a valuable asset, and her being a woman was also important, as woman were especially needed in her field.

He had just received the coroner's report for Agent Scully, and he wasn't satisfied.

"dammit mutter mutter what the hell is 'Unspecified' supposed to mean gotta get a second opinion mutter mutter"

He went on like this, muttering under his breath, definitely upset by what he was reading, but more upset that his friend was dead.

He was startled out of the paperwork by his secretary's soft tappings on the door.

"Come," He said gruffly, trying desperately to keep all emotions out of his voice.

She slowly opened the door and came in, closing firmly behind her. Years of working with Walter Skinner told her exactly what he was feeling. She knew his moods and his emotional responses, and knew when to tread gently. She cleared her throat quietly, and spoke softly:

"Sir, Agent Mulder is waiting just outside, he wishes to see you. He says it's urgent."

Skinner didn't even have to think of what to do. He knew.

"Send him home. Tell him It's Saturday, go get drunk and sleep, and don't worry about coming in to work Monday. I'll be in touch with him within the next week, but I'm not up to it right now. I'm very busy."

"Yes Sir."

As she reopened the door and briskly walked out, he felt a little bit like a deserter. He wanted to hear what Mulder had to say, but he couldn't take the conspiracy talk right now. Skinner was all-too-aware of the government's conspiracy, but his head hurt, and anyway, it could wait until Monday.

************

Mulder paced the FBI lobby frantically. Skinner had turned him away, even after he had divulged a little of why he was there. Skinner repeatedly gave the secretary the message "We'll talk about it Monday", and Mulder had eventually given in and left.

Now who could he call? Scully's mom? Best not. Just getting the news that her daughter was dead was bad enough. The news that she had aged 20 years backward wasn't much of a comfort on top of that.

His phone suddenly rang rang impatiently. He glanced at the caller ID and his eyes widened.

"Speak of the devil," He muttered. wiping his forehead with his shirtsleeve. Sighing softly, he lifted the phone to his ear and pressed 'Talk'.

"Yeah, Mulder speaking."

"Fox! It's Maggie." Margaret Scully sounded very sad, her throat wet and barely able to get her words out.

"Hello, Mrs. Scully."

"I...I suppose you've heard, about Dana...?" Her voice cracked, and Mulder willed her to hold in her tears. He didn't know if he could keep quiet with a sobbing mother in his ear. Or stay sane. She continued:

"I.....I can't believe it...I just really can't. Both my little girls...gone..." Her voice trailed off momentarily. "Fox, the police won't tell me anything, I can't get a straight answer out of anyone. no one's told me anything about what's happened with my little girl!"

"Mrs. Scully, I can assure you, that the FBI and the police are doing all they can to sort this out. We're not sure exactly what's happened, but as soon as we know something, we'll be sure to tell you," He lied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an important meeting to go to, but I'll be in touch.".

Without even so much as a 'bye' he hung up the cellphone. He felt rotten, lying to Scully's mom like that. She wouldn't like it, he was sure, but it was what he felt was needed. He would explain later, when everything was sorted out. Until then, he needed information.

*****************************


	6. Chapter 6

Please let my know if this chapter makes sense with the rest of the story! It's been almost a year since I last wrote on this, so I'm feeling a little awkward. :) Sorry it's so short, I'm just getting back in the swing.

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Mulder swiftly walked down the well-groomed foyer. This was Scully's apartment building, and the main feature that he was noticing, was that it was much nicer than his own.

He opened the door of Scully's apartment with his own key that she had given him, and walked in. Everything was neat and orderly in the living room, nothing disturbed. He moved to the kitchen. It was clean, but starting to gather a bit of dust. It was obvious that nobody had been here for a few days. A few letters addressed to Scully lay strewn on the counter, waiting for someone to open them.

Mulder sniffed the air. There was something lingering underneath the clean scent and the air fresheners of the house. Something wrong. He strode the the bedroom door. It was closed shut, not so much as a peep coming from it. Drawing his gun, he leaned against the frame and put one hand on the knob. Twisting it sharply, he burst into the room.

So different from the rest of the house, this room was in chaos. The blankets and sheets on the bed had been ripped up and thrown across the room. Signs of a struggle were evident whereever he turned. The most worrisome part, though, were the bloodstains by the window.

Mulder bent down and looked them. Was this Scully's blood? Or was it the blood of some phantom attacker?

Sighing heavily, he stood up and leaned against the wall. There was nothing here but fragmented evidence. He really needed her here with him.

They'd both decided that she should lay low for a bit, stay away from where she would normally be. But it was hard when he was on his own, constantly worrying about her as he tried to unravel the mysteries behind her state.

He jumped when his cellphone rang, scaring himself. Reaching into his breast pocket, he fished it out and flipped it open.

"Mulder.'

"Hey, It's me.", Scully said, her teenage voice distorted by the phone. "Where are you right now?"

"At your apartment. Something's happened here. There are signs of a struggle, and bloodstains on the carpet."

Her heard her breath catch, then even out as she composed herself. "What do you think happened?"

"It looks like a kidnapping. If I didn't know any better, from the evidence I'd say you were in bed, when someone broke in the window. Are you sure you weren't kidnapped?"

"Listen, Mulder. I've told you everything I know. I...I just can't remember anything. I can't even remember the last time I was home. I just don't know anything anymore! Can you please come back? I'm worried something might hap-"

Mulder heard the door of her apartment open, and quickly shut the clamshell lid of his phone, cutting off their conversation.

He pushed his back to the doorframe of her spilling-over closet, his FBI-issued handgun down to his leg. The person was being furtive and stealthy, he could tell.

He heard the individual at the door to the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the person. It was a tall man, closs-cropped hair and rough looking clothes.

Mulder took a deep breath and flew from the closet, aiming his gun as he went, hoping that he wasn't doing something that he would sorely regret.


End file.
